An infinitesimal fracture in time
by Docnerd89
Summary: AU On the fifth day, even before boarding the train, he had a moment. If he were to describe the moment, he'd say it was an infinitesimally small fracture in time.
1. Chapter 1

People who knew Richard Castle – the real Rick, beyond the glamour, beyond the mask – knew that he was predictable in his unpredictability. For instance, if you were to find him suspended by a mountain climbing rope, wearing a pair of heavy duty spectacles and all black garb, pivoting slowly, trying to catch the bead of sweat before it fell onto the floor, while trying to get a CD out of a laptop, you'd think he was a spy. Unless the rope were tied to the first floor landing of his SOHO loft, he was approximately 3 feet off the ground, the spectacles were swimming glasses, and there was a can of pop next to the laptop. Then you'd just think he was crazy. Or you might be his intelligent, mature-beyond-her-age daughter, Alexis, and wouldn't bat an eyelash while stepping around him to get to the kitchen.

"_Hello, carrot-top." _

"_Hello, not-Ethan Hunt. Research?" _

"_Research."_

He didn't get famous just for his devilishly handsome looks, and chocolate boy gone rogue page six stories. Although those did help sell his books, famous young novelist, Richard Castle, earned his fame from his job. Writing. That thing he loved doing which actually earned him pretty big bucks. He was a lucky son of a gun.

Though his perennially cheery countenance, golden retriever like enthusiasm, and teenage boy-brain remarks often classified him as the fun-loving smartass category, there were a few things he took seriously. Kind of.

Among these things were family and close friends. And writing. Kind of.

It didn't always seem like it, but he did put in a lot of work into his – well – work. The means to the end may have included many a shenanigan, but in the end, a carefully crafted story always reached the editor's desk. Eventually. Probably after the deadline. Usually after the deadline.

Sometimes he got a little too method with his writing. Like the time he had to re-do the false divider in his apartment after seeing the efficacy of using watermelons as weapons. (He wanted to put in a bookshelf there anyway.)

Or like that other time when he failed so spectacularly at mountain climbing, that he wrote in a secret hidden passageway into one of his spy novels because he didn't want his protagonist to suffer mountain rock burn.

Or like that one random plot idea day when he decided to take the subway to figure out logistics of public transport. It made him come back the next day because random plot idea day evolved into a cool plot of having a hostage situation on a train, and his spy protagonist being undercover. So he took the journey once every day (cause there's only that much of public transport one can take in a day), took different routes, and tried to study the details.

He studied the tunnels, the way the lights flickered, clattery noises the bogie made, the cell phone network flickering. He studied the people – some anxious, some lost in thought, some with their heads buried in books or newspapers, jiggling their legs, bobbing their heads to too-loud-for-headphones music.

Sometimes he'd get recognized, he was hot in the presses after all, but mostly he got left alone. People minded their own business. Mostly.

He came back again for the third day in a row of probably five. Looked, listened, smelled - his senses absorbing the life, brain converting everything into words.

He came back for the fourth, and then again for the fifth. On the fifth day, even before boarding the train, he had a moment. If he were to describe the moment, he'd say it was an infinitesimally small fracture in time where he felt hot and cold all at once. Like flame blooming in his chest, and a water-balloon bursting on his head. Tiny currents starting at his neck, running down his spine, all the way into his fingers and toes - making them curl. It was like nothing, and something. Something he'd felt before. In a past life? In his dreams? In his books? But it's nothing he remembers feeling before. A resurrection of a memory of nothing, a phantom held just out of reach. Over in a split second, that had him take a deep breath in to expand his chest, and shake away the cobwebs that seemed to have materialized in his mind.

On the fifth day that was cloudy, with the smell of petrichor wafting through the small enclosed spaces, the damp feel of the breeze that made its way through the traffic of people on a public commute. On the fifth day, he looked up, and time froze. It didn't stop, no. It just slowed to crawl just like the train had before it stopped at the station. The new set of New Yorkers stepped in, and the train jolted to restart its journey. The passengers found their seats, or poles to lean on. The train picked up speed, but time didn't. When he looked up, it froze.

She took off her jacket before sitting on the still dry seat, and held it a fraction away from herself as she gently shook it. His eyes followed her hand that gave it a couple of pats, shaking lose a few drops that fell to the floor. The same hand rose to her face and moved a damp clump of hair off her cheek, and then proceeded to comb gracefully through her hair.

If he could think, he would think about how he'd probably look like a wet dog trying to shake himself dry. If he could think, he would think that she didn't look so much like a wet dog, as she did some sort of aquatic Goddess rising into the realms of dry land, spreading her energy. If he could think, he'd probably think he ought raise his jaw back before it left his face and fell to the floor.

He was, however, slightly impeded by the fact that his grey cells seemed to have deserted him. He did have a fleeting thought that if he'd shake his head, he'd hear a few lose parts clunking around. It was a fleeting thought though, one he couldn't pay attention too, because it was all focused on the beautiful woman who just then met his eyes.

While externally he just blinked owlishly back at her, internally he was having quite the struggle. His body was playing tricks on him. He felt like throwing up. Throwing up rainbows. He felt like he'd suddenly gained a whole lot of superhero level strength. Strength he would use to build a pedestal for her to stand on. He felt like clutching his heart and scolding it. It had no business beating so loudly she could probably hear it from all the way across him.

He felt the jolt brought on by the sudden change of inertia. Knew this was his stop, but he stayed on anyway. She felt it too. The jolt. It was probably what triggered her to look away from him. Hide the rose tinted cheeks behind the curtain of dark chocolate strands of her hair.

Rick found it in himself to look away for a second. Do the courteous thing. The thing that didn't make him seem like a psychopath on a train journey. But he felt more than saw her turning back to him, and his poor, weak body turned to her too.

And then she smiled a small little thing. A slight quirk of the corner of her mouth, as her teeth dug into her lower lip. Her eyes looked straight into his just for a moment – an infinitesimal fracture in time – before they looked down at her lap.

He turned to the person beside him. He wanted to make sure that no one actually physically punched him in the gut, because though he didn't quite remember that happening, it sure as hell felt like it did happen. Considering that the person beside him was a school-aged girl with well-manicured nails, he ruled it out.

She was about to look at him again, he'd bet on it. But the train jolted again, and it seemed to have startled her. A few people had already gotten up, had already started making their way out of the now stationary train. She got up, standing behind a couple. Just before getting off, she looked over her shoulder at him. She gave him an almost apologetic smile.

Her eyes looked so green. But they'd looked brown just a moment before, and he thought maybe it's the lighting. Maybe it's his imagination. Maybe she's his imagination too. Rick Castle wasn't an overly modest person. Some would even say he was full of himself. But he knew for sure that he wasn't that good a writer. She had to be real. She was real, and she was off the train, and why was he still on it?

He stood up, determined. Determined to do what, he hadn't quite figured out yet, but he let his body take the lead. A few people got in, and he moved towards the doors just as the started sliding shut. He felt like a cliché. Being trapped on the other side of the door. He raised his hand to the glass, trying to catch – what exactly? Trying to catch a lost moment? Trying to catch her.

Just before he got too far, when he allowed his eyes to open (when had he even closed them?) he saw her, not ten paces away, her hand raised, palm facing him, fingers curling in a hello. A goodbye.

She turned. And then he was too far way.

He got on the train on the sixth day, trying to match the time as closely to the fifth as he could.

He got on the train on the seventh day, and it would have been the last.

He got on for another week after that, each day, the disappointment an ever-growing weight on his shoulders.

He got on again, because he couldn't bear not to. And on the fifteenth day, when he was trying to look away from the opening doors, when he was trying to avoid another crack in his heart, he felt her more than he saw her. He turned towards her, as she spotted him. He scooted over so he wasn't obnoxiously occupying space enough for two, like he had been doing for the last ten days. She made his way next to him, her expression inscrutable. She sat down, all fluid movements and grace as she looked straight ahead. As he did too, coward that he was.

"It's Kate," she said softly.

He turned to her, heart tripping over itself as he tried in vain to contain his blooming smile.

"Rick."

Her hand stretched out in the small space between them, and he could have sworn his world seized for just a moment. An infinitesimal fracture in time.

* * *

A/N: Wow, I haven't written in a very long time. Sorry if this was absolute crap, I've lost my ability to judge.


	2. Chapter 2

It was one of those days for Kate Beckett. She'd been having a tough week. The week saw a case that took a whole lot of work, skipped meals and a few sleepless nights. The day before wasn't so physically draining. Her team at the twelfth precinct caught the killer. Captain Montgomery, and her boys – Ryan and Esposito – even celebrated a little bit, before they all sat down at their respective desks and got to doing the paperwork.

Sitting around to fill in a bunch of papers sounds like it doesn't take a whole lot of effort. Quite the contrary, it takes a whole lot of effort. So at the end of the day, after having successfully closed their case, they had to full the forms, cross their t's and dot their i's. To do that they had to recall every single detail of every single thing that had anything remotely to do with the case and jot it down with as much accuracy as possible. They had to log their resources, their interviews and leads – the ones that panned out and the ones that didn't. They had to time stamp, and sign off on the where, when and why's.

By the end of the evening, there were three extremely tired detectives, yawning and struggling to lift their pens and keep their eyes open. It was with the utmost sense of relief that they flipped closed the file, put on their coats and left, silent in their goodbyes.

They were on call the next day, and hoped that murderers in the city of New York would cut them a break for once and consider killing at a decent hour.

Kate woke up to the call informing her of a body drop. The boys were already at the crime scene. They'd waited on calling her, and she guessed that it was in repayment for sending them home a couple of times that last week while she stuck around a little longer She appreciated the gesture. They all looked out for each other. She told them she'd pick up the couple of files they'd requested to be pulled up from the precinct since it was on her way to the scene anyway.

It was a decent start to her day until then, and then things started going downhill. She'd run out of coffee at home, and hadn't had time for a grocery run. Coffee was her life source. This wasn't a good sign. But she trudged on. After she'd gotten ready, she came out into her living room, and cracked open the window.

When she was a young girl, her mother used to tell her she had a special gift. She used to think of it as a super power. In retrospect Kate thought that her mother was humoring her. But Johanna Beckett always insisted that Kate could tell when it was going to rain. It wasn't really that hard. There was something about the way the breeze changed. Just a tad warmer, and a tad humid as it brushed up against her skin. There was always a linger scent in the air that made her nose tingle and twitch. The blue of the sky was a shade deeper, and the clouds, usually white cotton, would get heavier as they got grey. Usually Kate could see it before it got obvious, and she'd take great pride when Johanna instantly procured her umbrella, trusting her daughter's instincts. The doozy was that Kate could usually predict how long they had before the sky would start weeping.

She gave herself maybe ten or fifteen minutes, in which time she'd hoped to be in her car, and on the road. She was right about the time, as usual, but wrong in the rest of her prediction. Twenty minutes later saw her heading towards the subway because her car wouldn't start. It wasn't a heavy rain, more of a light drizzle. While on any other day, she would have enjoyed it, preferably indoors, curled up with a good novel and a cup of hot chocolate, this wasn't the case. She had a case, had to stop by the precinct, and then make her way to the crime scene.

"_Oh, Katie, stop whining. You love the rains."_

She stopped midstride, apologizing to the young boy who crashed into her from behind. Not only had she thought about Johanna back at home, she'd heard her voice in her head just now. It wasn't usual for her – or at least, it hadn't been for a while. She wasn't quite sure how to feel about it. On the one hand, it made the memories come alight and she missed her with a ferocity that had never quite died down in its intensity. On the other, it warmed her heart that she could hear her mom's voice, hear it in the tone that was so unique to her. She hadn't forgotten as she once fearfully told her shrink that she might.

Shaking herself from her reverie, she put it down to nostalgia brought on by the weather and her fatigue.

Kate thought about how CSU was probably thanking their stars it was inside an apartment and not out on the streets. Rainy days were their nemesis. While this runaway random thought passed her mind, she saw her train pull to a stop.

There were just a few people ahead of her, and a couple behind. The couple behind her cast her a suspicious glance when she turned around so very suddenly. But she couldn't help it. She could have sworn she felt a breeze lift her hair and a ghost of a touch glance across her right shoulder. The ghost of a whisper in her ear. It didn't say anything, there weren't any words, but it felt like there were supposed to be. She put it down to paranoia, but couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't quite sinister. Mysterious perhaps. Unfortunately, or fortunately, she didn't have time to dwell on it for she had to get on her train.

Lucky for her, she found an empty seat, and headed towards it. She took her jacket off, and sat down, shaking it just a little. She held it slightly away from herself, stalling the eventuality of getting wet in the day's downpour. She suspected there was more to come. Her hand automatically reached out to move the wet hair stuck to her cheek. Trying her best to finger-comb it, and will it to dry, she thought about how her shower was basically wasted.

Kate raised her head while contemplating how she'd get her car fixed if she didn't have the time to take it to a mechanic. And that's when she saw him.

Sitting across from her was none other than Richard Castle. Richard freakin' Castle. Staring at her like she was the only one on the train beside him. For some reason, she was staring right back.

"_He looks even more handsome in person, you know."_

Kate wished she could tell her mother that she agreed.

Just as the thought entered her mind, the train gave a jolt. She didn't realize how long she sat there, star-struck, probably with a glazed look on her face to match his. They were already at the station though, so it must've been a while. Warmth flooded her face, making her finally look away from him. She let her hair fall, hid her face as it swung forward.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw that he looked away too. She also noticed that there was a delightful blush covering his cheeks as well. It was adorable. She turned, allowing herself to look at him again.

It wasn't everyday that she ran into one of her favorite authors.

"_One of?"_

She vaguely wondered why Johanna's voice was playing her voice of conscience today. And why it was scoffing. So she was a fan of the genre, so what?

She looked back at him; saw as he turned to look back at her too. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing to be scared about either. She put killers behind bars everyday. She could face her fav – one of her favorite authors. Courageously she smiled at him. Or at least, she hoped she did. Hoped it didn't come out more of a grimace.

As she stared at her lap, she wondered if it did look like a grimace, for he looked away from her again. Looked to the young girl next to him. She fought a smile as she saw his eyes furrow and his head shake fractionally, as if deciding something. Her head shook along too, much to her amusement.

She quickly shifted her line of sight, while he looked at her again. That's when the train jolted gently before coming to a stop. Her stop. It surprised her, how quickly this strange journey had come to an end. It irritated her. As she stood up and walked to the doors, she contemplated staying on. Reaching out to him maybe? But she was going to be late. She had work to do.

She wished. Oh, how she wished.

Kate turned back to him before getting down, smiling sadly at the slew of scenarios going through her mind. His eyes were wide, and he was frowning sadly. Pouting actually. And she turned away from the 'what ifs', and stepped off the train.

A few steps later, she heard the train start again. She didn't know why she stopped. After deciding that she wouldn't. Deciding that that was the extent of her luck.

"_Sometimes fate's decisions overrule our own, Katie."_

She turned around and saw him pressed against the glass door, his palm facing her, blanched by the pressure. Like he was trying to get through it. Pass through that pesky solid barrier. His eyes were closed, and she wished they weren't. He had such beautiful blue eyes.

As if she'd willed them to open, they did, looking straight at her. She raised her hand in a wave just for a fraction and turned around when he gifted her a smile. It wasn't enough. It was too much.

Her day was just beginning and it was already too much. She took in a deep breath, and stroke away purposefully.

She had a job to do. A car to get fixed. A life to get back to.

That's just what she did. Kate lived her day like she lived any other day. Chasing down leads, tracing calls, jotting timelines, finding suspects, grilling them.

She got her car fixed the next day – it didn't need much fixing, she didn't have to wait very long.

Life went on, and on. And on.

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, she stopped hearing Johanna's voice. It was nostalgia. It was just the rain. Just a day where her defenses were down and her mind tired.

She missed her. Always did.

Ten days after the day she heard her mom's voice, clear as if she were just in the other room. Ten days after that day, Kate heard it again while making coffee.

It wasn't a rainy day, so she couldn't blame the weather.

She was unusually well rested, so she couldn't blame her body.

"_Life never delivers anything we can't handle."_

On a whim, Kate took the train again.

On a whim.

She didn't know why. Didn't know what she was hoping for. For the most part, her mind was blank. Deliciously, wonderfully empty. Not something she was used to.

And so when she walked into the compartment, she wasn't expecting to see him. See him again. But there he was. Sitting like he was waiting for something.

Who was she kidding?

He turned towards her, and she paused for a second. A second was enough to see the transformation on his face. There was a cautious smile, and if it were just that, she'd think she had imagined their last encounter. He visibly changed, and yet he didn't. His slumped shoulders seemed to have risen; his bowed head bowed no more. As tacky as it sounded, his eyes seemed to twinkle, and their corners seemed to crinkle.

She moved towards him, and it felt like the rest of the world had dissolved. Is this what tunnel vision felt like? She held his gaze, and everything else was blurred. Kate felt like she was in a daze, in a trance. He shifted, giving her space to sit next to him. She sat staring straight ahead allowing a moment to gather some courage. She couldn't help but notice their proximity. His coat scratched against hers when she reached out her hand to shake his.

She felt his chest rise, his head turn to look at her. The awe engulfing his face almost made her look away from the intensity of it. Almost.

"It's Kate," she said softly.

"Rick," he replied as he took her hand in his. She thought he might have felt the tug of her hand pulling backwards, almost out of his grasp. But she couldn't help it. Was powerless against it. If anything, she was surprised that she couldn't see any visible sparks.

He didn't let go of her hand. Held it just a fraction too long for someone so unfamiliar. Even when he let go, it was reluctant. Even when she took her hand back, it was reluctant.

"I know, Mr. Castle."

"You do?" he said.

She wondered if she was imagining that he shrunk just a fraction. "My mother was a fan." It wasn't a lie.

"Was?" he asked softly, leaning closer.

Kate found it hard to do more than nod. He must have recognized the locking of her jaw for what it was.

"And you?"

Her eyes startled to his, and he smirked. She looked ahead, biting her cheek. "I'm a fan of the genre."

"Kate."

"What?" It took her breath away, absurdly.

"Nothing. I like your name."

She couldn't help the bubble of laughter blooming in her chest. "Thanks, I think."

"You're welcome," he said with a nod. "This is your stop."

Kate hadn't even noticed the train stopping. She blinked and stood.

He stood too.

"Castle, what…?"

"Castle?"

"Force of habit."

A single eyebrow rose. He looked curious. Fascinated.

"It's a cop thing," she said, moving to join the line of people exiting the train. He followed.

"You're a cop?" he whispered excitedly.

Whispered right into her ear. He was standing behind her. So close.

So close that when she turned to reply, his hair brushed against hers. It stole her breath. Stole her focus.

"Homicide detective."

She gasped when his left hand landed on her hip. The man who ran into Rick apologized. Rick apologized to her. But he didn't take his hand away. She didn't mind.

"That is so cool. Detective Kate."

She smiled. "Detective Beckett."

"Hot," he muttered as the stepped off the train.

Kate laughed. She hadn't felt so – so free, in a long time. "Castle."

"Yes, Kate?"

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Where do you know you're going?"

She rolled her eyes, and he smiled sheepishly.

"I'm going to work."

"Oh, right," he frowned. And then smiled. "Can I come with you?"

"Hah! What are you, five? No, you can't come with me."

"What? Why not?"

"Seriously? We just met. On a train," she said, enunciating clearly as if indeed talking to a five year old.

"I know, I was there."

Kate rolled her eyes again and he seemed to smile wider. She huffed and turned around suddenly, starting to walk away.

He was so different than how the papers and magazines portray him. It shouldn't have surprised her but it did. She didn't know him, of course. Not yet. But somehow, she thought she'd like to.

He stood there looking miserable and lost in the middle of a train station. And then she paused. Just like she did ten days ago. She turned around.

"You coming, Castle?"

He almost tripped over his feet in his haste. She turned to hide her smile. Turned to hide how his radiantly joyous, delightfully surprised face made her feel. He caught up to her, matching her stride, and walked by her side, chattering away to glory.

* * *

**AN : **Thank you all for the lovely reviews. The fandom support always blows me away. Some of you asked for more, so here it is. Hope you enjoyed Kate's POV. I think it's not too OOC, if you squint a bit. :P Ta!


End file.
